Mr. Osborn turned to explain. “It is a disease that is sadly common in America. My professors in Edinburgh referred to it as ‘malaria,’ and it is caused by bad air from the swamps.”
“Uh-uh, no, it’s not,” Hannah said, shaking her head emphatically. “I know what malaria is. You catch it from mosquito bites.”
“Foolish girl,” Mr. Osborn muttered. “What would you know of medicine? You have listened to the slaves’ superstitious nonsense. Be off with you.”
“No,” said a feeble voice. It was Mrs. Gordon. Her eyes were open. “Let her stay awhile. Mr. Osborn, would you kindly allow me a moment alone with the girl?”
Mr. Osborn nodded, and bowed to Mrs. Gordon before taking his leave. Hannah was taken aback that Mrs. Gordon had anything to say to her at all, much less in private.
Nervously, she glanced down at Mrs. Gordon’s pale hand lying on the blanket. The ring was still on her finger. Mrs. Gordon closed her eyes again, and Hannah thought she was going back to sleep. But she opened her eyes once more, and focused on Hannah. Noticing that Hannah was staring at her ring, she smiled at her. “I have not long left on this earth,” she said weakly. “Here, take my ring as a keepsake by which to remember me.” She lifted her hand slightly.
Hannah was horrified. She wanted nothing to do with it. “No, you’re going to get well,” she said desperately. “Anyway, your family should have that ring. Not me.” Why does Mrs. Gordon want to give it to me, anyway? Hannah thought. She doesn’t even know me.
Mrs. Gordon smiled sadly. “My family are dead, Hannah. Mr. Gordon has no need of this ring. I should like you to have it. I think it is meant that I give it to you. Here.” With effort, she pulled the ring from her finger, and signaled to Hannah to come closer and put out her right hand.
Hannah reluctantly held out her hand, and Mrs. Gordon wiggled the ring onto her finger. It felt like a good fit, if a little tight, and it was undeniably pretty. But Hannah couldn’t stop thinking about the skeleton. If she wore the ring, would she be the skeleton?
She decided she would take it off as soon as she was out of Mrs. Gordon’s sight. And since there was nothing left for her to do at the Jones’ house, she had a good excuse to leave now. She didn’t know what to say to the dying woman, anyway.
“Thanks, Mrs. Gordon. I’d better get back and help with the fire. Take care,” she said quickly. Without waiting for a reply, she tore off downstairs. “Hey, can I have another candle for my lantern?” she asked Juba, but she got no answer. “I guess I’ll help myself,” she muttered, grabbing her lantern from beside the hearth. Taking a candle stub from the table, she lit it in the fireplace and rushed from the house.
Long before Hannah arrived home, she could see the flames through the trees as she walked. The air was thick with black smoke, carried by the breeze. It was no longer just the barn that was ablaze. When she got to the Gordons’ plantation, she found everyone looking on helplessly while the house burned. Hannah had lost very little—just a very few clothes she owned—but she couldn’t help thinking of all the nice new furniture and Mrs. Gordon’s tea set.
Even the slaves, on Mr. Gordon’s orders, had given up trying to put out the fire. They stood silently, watching the flames.
Alex sidled up to Hannah. “That was weird,” he muttered.
“What was?” Hannah said, puzzled. She was tugging at Mrs. Gordon’s ring, and she screwed up her face from pain as it chafed against her swelling finger.
Her brother said quietly, “Hannah, I saw what happened here. The house started burning from the inside, not from the roof. I guess a spark must have flown in the window. But I can’t figure out why the upstairs shutters were open when it’s this cold.”
“Whatever,” said Hannah, grunting as she continued pulling on the ring. She held out her hand to her brother. “Check this out.”
When he caught sight of the ring, he gasped. “What? How did you get Mrs. Gordon’s ring?”
“She gave it to me,” Hannah said, holding up her hand to show him.
“Take it off,” Alex said, panicking. “I don’t want you to be the skeleton.”
“Duh. I already thought of that,” Hannah snapped. “Why do you think my finger is all swollen? I’ve been trying to get the stupid thing off, and it won’t move.”
“Let’s go ask Sukey. She’ll help us,” Alex said, grabbing his sister’s hand and leading her away. But Mr. Gordon had spotted the unusual sight of a slave taking his white servant by the hand, and he approached them.
“What is the matter here?” he demanded.
Hannah made the mistake of quickly hiding her right hand behind her back, and Mr. Gordon saw her do it. He leaned forward, seized her arm and jerked on it. As soon as he saw her hand, he saw the ring. “What are you doing with my wife’s property?” he asked angrily.
“She gave it to me,” Hannah said, as calmly as she could.
“You are lying, girl!” Mr. Gordon roared, roughly throwing aside her hand. “Take it off at once. It doesn’t belong to you.”
“I can’t get it off,” Hannah cried, tugging at the ring on her finger to demonstrate. “That’s why we’re going to ask Sukey to help us.”
“Sukey!” Mr. Gordon exclaimed. “Is that why you’re going to her? Is she part of your thieving plot?”
Hannah gasped in outrage. “Yes! No! I mean, there is no plot. Look, Mrs. Gordon gave me this ring, and now it’s stuck. End of story. We just figured Sukey might know how to get it off.”
“You had better find a way to remove the ring, and return it to me forthwith. I will punish you later,” he hissed, giving her one last vehement look, before turning to Mr. Jones. “May I visit your house, sir, to attend to my wife?”
Mr. Jones nodded. “But, of course, sir,” he said. “With your permission in turn, I shall remain here to supervise.”
Mr. Gordon inclined his head toward his neighbor, and set off.
Brandon, meanwhile, had shown up at Mr. Jones’s house, in search of Mr. Osborn. Hesitantly, he rapped on the door, and hearing no reply, he stepped inside.
Upstairs, he found an anxious-looking Mr. Osborn standing over Mrs. Gordon, his cupping equipment attached to her left arm.
Brandon cleared his throat, but Mr. Osborn didn’t turn around. “What is it, Brandon?” he asked testily as he peered into the cupping glass.
“I just came to ask if you want me to bring you some food, sir,” Brandon said meekly.
Mr. Osborn waved him away. “No, no, thank you, that will not be . . . Oh, no!”
Brandon was alarmed by Mr. Osborn’s sudden exclamation, and even more so to see him lean down to listen to Mrs. Gordon’s breathing, which had suddenly grown deep and rapid. Then, just as suddenly, her breathing stopped altogether. The minister straightened up, and taking Mrs. Gordon’s wrist, felt for a pulse. He sighed heavily, gently placed her arm across her body, and stepped back.
“She is no more,” he said somberly.
“Hey, aren’t you even going to try CPR?” Brandon said in panic, realizing as soon as he had said it that nobody knew how to resuscitate a patient in the eighteenth century. And he didn’t have a clue how to do it himself.
Except . . . maybe . . . maybe he could just try to do CPR like they did it on TV? It was worth a shot.
Hesitantly, he stepped forward to Mrs. Gordon’s bedside, put one hand over the other, and placed both hands on her chest. Mr. Osborn’s puzzlement turned to alarm when Brandon started pushing against the corpse.
“What are you doing?” The cry came not from Mr. Osborn, but from Mr. Gordon, who was now standing behind him, aghast.
Embarrassed, Mr. Osborn grabbed Brandon by the shoulders, and shoved him hard across the room, before turning back to Mr. Gordon.
“Mr. Gordon, I must apologize,” he said earnestly, wringing his hands. “I do not know what possessed the boy, but I think he was trying to help. Alas, your wife is already beyond help. I regret that she died a few moments ago, despite my most urgent ministrations
. May I extend my condolences to you, sir?”
Mr. Gordon ignored him, and leaned over Mrs. Gordon’s body, running a hand across her forehead.
“I must beg you to excuse me,” he growled quietly. “I wish to be alone.”
As Mr. Osborn and Brandon retreated toward the stairs, Mr. Gordon suddenly turned on Mr. Osborn. “I hold you responsible, sir,” he barked. “You allowed your servant boy to practice superstitious nonsense on my poor wife, some rubbish he has surely learned from the negroes, and in doing so, you have hastened her demise. And how dare you, sir, how dare you permit my servant girl to steal a valuable ring from my poor addled wife?”
Mr. Osborn tried to explain, but Mr. Gordon advanced on him threateningly, roaring at him to get out. Brandon and his boss beat a hasty retreat.
Sukey had never come across a ring stuck on a finger before, and she examined Hannah’s hand uncertainly.
“Use somefing slippery,” Jane suggested. “Somefing like butter.” Sukey thought for a moment. Then she fetched a small clay jar from the corner of her hut, and removed its deerskin covering. Inside was a bright white ointment. She scooped a little onto her index finger, while Hannah, sitting on the ground near the fire, watched nervously.
“What is that stuff?” Hannah asked.
“Lard,” Sukey said, massaging the fat onto the ring and the skin around it. “What’s that?” Hannah asked.
“You know, pig fat,” said Jane with a cheeky smile. “Bacon the pig ’as done you a favor.” Hannah winced at this news, but Jane was right. Thanks to Bacon’s final sacrifice, the ring now slipped off easily. Hannah held it up to show Sukey and Jane, and then carefully set it beside her on the ground. “Thank you,” she said with a relieved smile. “I was getting worried that old Gordon would cut off my finger.” But she was still worried. He would get his ring back, but she was afraid that her reward would be a whipping.
“Now, since the house is soon ashes, where do you sleep?” Sukey asked the girls, wiping her fingers on a rag, then handing it to Hannah to do the same. “Sleep here if you wish it.”
“It’s okay,” Hannah said. “We’re good. Mr. and Mrs. Gordon are staying with the Joneses, and Jane and me are going to Mr. Osborn’s house.”
“You had something to eat?” Sukey asked.
“Not yet,” Hannah said. “Actually, I’m starving.”
Jane nodded in assent, and the girls looked hopefully at Sukey.
“Make yourself some hoe cakes,” Sukey said grumpily. “I’m going back to sleep.”
As dawn rose, it was still cold, and the exhausted and shivering girls finally arrived at Mr. Osborn’s house. Brandon opened the door, and quietly broke the news to them about Mrs. Gordon’s death.
Hannah gasped and stumbled inside. “What? She’s gone? No way!”
“Shh,” Brandon hushed her. “Mr. Osborn’s asleep upstairs, and he’s beat. I don’t want to wake him.”
He sat on one of the rickety wooden chairs by the fire, and Jane sat across from him, while Hannah stood, waiting for an explanation. “She passed last night,” Brandon confirmed. “I tried to do CPR, but it didn’t work.”
Jane looked blank. But Hannah said, “You did what? Are you crazy? Do you even know how to do . . .”
And then she surprised herself by bursting into tears. She hadn’t felt at all close to Mrs. Gordon, hadn’t even liked her much, really. She just felt sorry for her. It was too strange to think of her as gone forever. And it was just bizarre, she thought, that Mrs. Gordon should die so soon after Mrs. Osborn.
Thinking of Mrs. Gordon, Hannah looked at her ring finger. The ring. Where was the ring? She panicked. She didn’t dare tell Alex and Brandon she had lost it. They would never forgive her. “Guys,” she said, trying to sound calm. “I have to go back to Sukey’s place, right now. I forgot . . . I forgot to tell her something.”
But nobody was listening to her. “I’m starving,” Jane was saying. “You got any food, Brandon? Real food, I mean. I hate them ’oe cake things.”
“Sure, we can fix you some ham and eggs if you like,” said Brandon. “Alex, can you fetch the pan?”
“I’ll save you some ham,” Alex called to his sister as he saw the door close behind her.
“Where’s she gone then?” asked Jane.
“Beats me,” Brandon said, handing her a basket. “Here, go grab some eggs.”
Hannah slumped miserably on her way back from the quarters. Sukey was nowhere to be found. Hannah had searched the empty hut on her hands and knees, but found no trace of the ring. I must have dropped it somewhere, she thought. Oh, man, when Mr. Gordon finds out, I am so toast. She knew she would have to tell him, but she hoped that tonight of all nights, the ring would be the least of his worries.
She knocked tentatively at the Jones’ door, and Juba admitted her with the usual sour look. A haggard Mr. Gordon was sitting at the table with Mr. Jones, slumped over a cup of coffee. He was unshaven, and his clothes were covered with splotches of soot and dirt from the night before. He seemed to be halflistening to Mr. Jones, who was speaking rapidly.
“Thompson in Savannah will, I am certain, be more than happy to advance you the sum required to replace your furnishings,” he said, “and I shall be pleased to loan you the assistance of my slaves in buiding a new house for you.”
Mr. Gordon cleared his throat. “I am much obliged to you, sir, but that will not be necessary. I have decided to offer the plantation for sale, and to return to my lands in South Carolina.”
“If I may be so bold, sir,” Mr. Jones said carefully, “perhaps it would be better to hesitate before acting upon such a decision. Meanwhile, let us attend to our most pressing matter. Let us go together and place the culprit under arrest.”
Mr. Gordon said nothing, but stared into his coffee. Hannah thought he hadn’t even noticed that she was in the room, and so she was startled when he looked up at her abruptly and said, “Where is my wife’s ring?”
She swallowed hard. “I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry. Sukey helped me get it off, but then I put it down, and I don’t know where . . . .”
She stopped speaking when Mr. Gordon jumped to his feet, and advanced on her threateningly. Intimidated, Hannah shrank away from him.
“What have you done?” he screamed at her. “Does Sukey not have possession of it?”
“I don’t think so . . . .” Hannah said nervously. Mr. Gordon suddenly turned and slammed his fist on the table. Even Mr. Jones jumped.
“Was it not sufficient that Sukey left the slave quarters in the night, and set the fire? Now she intends to rob me of even the smallest trinket?”
Hannah gaped at him open-mouthed. “What?” she gasped. “No! Sukey wouldn’t do that!”
“SILENCE!” Mr. Gordon roared at her. More calmly, he turned back to Mr. Jones. “Negroes are never to be trusted, sir. Never.”
“Why do you think Sukey started the fire?” Hannah asked desperately. She began to babble, forgetting who she was supposed to be, and when in time she was. “I mean wasn’t it just an accident? You guys use fire all the time, and you live in wooden houses, and you don’t have smoke detectors or anything . . . .”
Mr. Gordon had stopped listening. As he threw on his cape and tricorn hat, he gave her a murderous look.
But Hannah was on a roll now. She finished, “And how come you never took the pine straw off the roof?”
With lightning speed, Mr. Gordon stepped across the room and slapped Hannah so hard across the cheek, he knocked her to the floor. She lay crumpled in a stupor at his feet.
Meanwhile, Mr. Jones acted as though nothing had happened. As Hannah groaned, he said calmly to Mr. Gordon, “If you wish it, sir, perhaps we could assemble the magistrates later this week for a special session.”
“An excellent idea, sir,” Mr. Gordon replied, as he stepped over Hannah and followed Mr. Jones out the door. “And the execution should be carried out forthwith. I regret the loss of my property in Sukey, but it is vital that the negroes s
ee that punishment is immediate and terrible. You will recall, sir, that the penalty for arson by a slave is burning at the stake.”
At that moment, Hannah clearly heard Mrs. Gordon’s voice in her ear, saying, “Why should the negro live when I am dead?”
Stunned and frightened, she burst into tears.
Chapter 11: BRANDON AND ALEX INVESTIGATE
A livid red mark lay across Hannah’s face, and her head was still buzzing when she got back to Mr. Osborn’s house. Alex, Brandon, and Jane rushed to her when they saw her stagger in. “I heard her!” she cried. “Mrs. Gordon was speaking to me! I heard a ghost! And Mr. Gordon wants to kill Sukey. Come on, we gotta go. We have to stop this.”
The noise had awoken Mr. Osborn, and he came downstairs wigless in his nightgown and cap, holding a candle and rubbing his eyes. Alex thought he looked like Wee Willie Winkie.
“What is the matter?” he said irritably. But then he saw that Hannah was distraught, and his mood grew solicitous. “What has happened? Surely there are no more ill tidings this night.”
Brandon, Alex, Jane, and Mr. Osborn all listened solemnly as Hannah told them about the loss of the ring, her encounter with Mr. Gordon, and his threats against Sukey.
Hearing that Mr. Gordon wanted Sukey burned at the stake, Alex began to sob, and Hannah put her arm around him. As she did so, Brandon noticed that her hands were shaking.
“I don’t understand,” Brandon said in disbelief. “I remember one of my teachers saying that slaves must have been treated well, because they were valuable property, and that never made much sense to me. But why would Mr. Gordon want to kill Sukey? He depends on her to do the laundry and stuff, right?”
Hannah rubbed her eyes. “Yeah, but he could get me and Jane to do that,” she said. “Oh, wait . . . he does need her for something. He sends Sukey to do business with Mr. MacKenzie, the trader upriver, and she’s really good at it. I saw her . . . Oh, no.” Hannah’s face fell.
“What’s wrong?” asked Brandon.
She sighed. “Last time, Mr. Gordon was going to send Alex to Mr. MacKenzie’s with Sukey, and then, when Alex was sick, he sent me instead. I couldn’t figure out why she would need me or him. It’s not like we could help much if she was attacked, and she didn’t need us to help lift stuff. Now I’m thinking he wanted us to learn, so we could replace her. Brandon, I thought he totally depended on her. But now I’m not so sure.”
Look Ahead, Look Back (The Snipesville Chronicles Book 3) Page 25
